Page 54 of Of Vows and Betrayal

I barely have time to gather myself before Tiago storms in, his face a mask of fury.

“What did you do, Javier?” he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

“Be more specific,” I say, keeping my voice steady, though my gut churns with a premonition of what’s to come.

“Everything is imploding,” Tiago snaps, stepping closer. His eyes dart around the room, finally landing on Ophelia’s discarded dress on the floor. His expression shifts from anger to shock, then to a grim understanding.

“Javier, no,” he whispers, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I can’t help but smile, a small, almost sad smile. Part of me regrets not witnessing the havoc firsthand, but a much larger part of me is content in my bubble with Ophelia.

“Yes,” I say quietly, glancing back toward the bedroom where she still sleeps peacefully. “I couldn’t help it, Tiago. She means everything to me.”

Tiago’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. “You know what this means, right? You’ve dragged her into the center of this mess. You’ve made her a target.”

Just then, Ophelia appears, looking good enough to eat wearing my dress shirt. She blushes bright red, and I guess facing a priest the morning after would do that to you.

“Um, morning,” she stammers, her eyes darting nervously between Tiago and me. “I just… I need to… get my dress… It’s, uh, kind of important. For wearing. And other things.”

I can’t help but smile at her awkwardness. She bends down to pick up her dress, mumbling under her breath, “I mean, it’s not like I can just walk out in this shirt. Not that I don’t love it, it’s very comfy. And smells like you. But, um, yeah… not appropriate for the public.”

Tiago raises an eyebrow but stays silent. I’m sad I can’t enjoy the view any longer—she looks so good wearing my clothes. She mumbles another excuse, her face bright red, and quickly disappears back into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, she comes back out, fully dressed. “I need to go home and do damage control,” she says, her voice fierce, but I see the fear in her eyes.

My previous irritation at Tiago’s arrival morphs into concern. “I’ll take you,” I offer, not wanting to let her out of my sight.

“No,” she says firmly. “I want to Uber. You being there will only make it worse.”

Tiago nods in agreement, and the way he presses me with his gaze, I understand I have to let her go.

I grab her arm gently and pull her close, kissing her deeply just before she gets in the elevator, Tiago be damned. The kiss is full of promises and unspoken words, a desperate attempt to convey how much she means to me.

When we finally pull apart, her eyes are wide, her lips slightly swollen. “Be safe,” I whisper, my voice rough with emotion.

“You too,” she replies softly, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she steps into the elevator.

As the doors close, I feel a hollow in my chest. But I know this isn’t the end—it’s just the beginning. I turn back to Tiago, my resolve hardening. We have a lot to do, and I won’t rest until Ophelia is safe and this mess is behind us.

“You have to leave her,” Tiago says, his voice like steel.

I take a step back at the vehemence of his words. “What? No. She’s mine,” I reply, heading to the kitchen to make myself a coffee.

“Javier! I’ve heard through the grapevine that the judge has been called to her father’s house! The man will be done soon. You can’t—” He lets out a groan of frustration. “You only have two choices. One, you stop your vendetta, try to fix what you broke—tell her the truth, and if she forgives you, you keep her. Or two, you keep going but let her go. You never see her again, and let her be without you.”

I turn around, cup in hand. “I choose option three. I finish what I started, she never finds out what I did, and I keep her beside me, making it my life’s mission to make her happy.”

“There is no third option! Doing that will only hurt her. This vendetta is not worth it. Itneverwas.”

I slam my cup on the counter, and it shatters, burning my hand, but I barely notice it through my fury. “Paloma doesn’t deserve revenge?”

Tiago looks heavenward. “Paloma was not a saint; shenever was!” he shouts before raising his hand to stop me from speaking. “You don’t have a monopoly on grief! She was your wife, but she was my sister. My blood!”

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The anger drains from me, replaced by a raw, aching pain. “Tiago, you don’t understand. I loved her. She was my world.”

“And I loved her too, Javier. But this path you’re on—it’s destroying you. It’s destroying everything you could have.”

I look down at my bleeding hand, the pain finally registering. “I can’t just let it go, Tiago. I can’t. Paloma deserves justice.”

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